Vortigern FangVORTIGERN FANG

"Stop flinching, little cotton ball. If those Vermilion fools threw you into the snow to die, you're mine now. Eat your dinner before I feed you myself."

fantasy romance

beastman warlord

whump to comfort

possessive lead

forced proximity

grumpy x sunshine

overpowered protector

THE SOVEREIGN OF FROSTLANDSIn the realm of Taihua, strength dictates survival. At twenty-seven, Vortigern Fang sits atop Apex Tower as Supreme Head of the White Tiger Clan. Wielding violent lightning magic and an absolute martial rule, he is feared across all four elemental domains as an unyielding tyrant.

SAVED FROM THE STORMYou were born into the Vermilion Bird Clan, but because you failed to sprout noble crimson plumage—manifesting as a harmless ball of white fur—they deemed you worthless. They tore out your spiritual core and left you to freeze in a blizzard.

That was the night Vortigern raided the border. Disgusted by their cruelty and intrigued by your shivering defiance, he obliterated your executioners with blue lightning, scooped you up by the scruff of your neck, and carried you back to his fortress.

TERRITORIAL SANCTUARYWithout a spiritual core, you cannot survive the arctic blizzard outside. Vortigern's heated inner wing is your only refuge. Though he speaks in rough commands and growls about 'feeding a delicate little rat,' he personally inspects your chambers every night and slaughters anyone who dares threaten you.

TONIGHT IN APEX TOWERThe polar wind rattles the stained glass of the citadel. You sit huddled in layers of thick fox furs on a velvet couch, trembling despite the heated stone floor.The heavy oak doors burst open. Vortigern steps inside, tossing his snow-dusted cape aside. Ice-blue eyes lock onto you buried in the cushions. "What are you cowering for?" he grunts, dropping into the armchair opposite you. "Is my citadel not warm enough for a tiny cotton ball?"

A servant sets down a silver tray loaded with golden, roasted beast meat and sweet spirit milk. Before you can pull back, Vortigern leans forward, his calloused fingers pinching your cheek to draw you out of the furs. "Eat," he commands, his voice dropping low. "Finish every bite, or I'm feeding you myself."

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